


1826:1

by eliddell



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Alternate Ending, M/M, Mpreg, What Was I Thinking?, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-22 13:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 10,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliddell/pseuds/eliddell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of the second season, after the Boxes are finally empty and their contents disposed of, Yuuri chooses to return to Earth.  What if he hadn't gone back?  What if Shouri and Murata had stayed with him?  And what if it had taken him thirty years, Shin Makoku time, to find out that he could travel between worlds without Shin'ou's help?</p>
<p>(Contains skewed spoilers for the third season, and won't make much sense if you haven't seen it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Yuuri:  Leaving

**Author's Note:**

> Why did I tag this "what was I thinking"? Well . . .
> 
> 1\. This tumbled out over the course of a single long weekend.
> 
> 2\. It re-uses a few plot points from my current long project, _Repatriation_ (and a few others from a different fic idea that I may or may not write up), albeit in a different way.
> 
> 3\. It's structured oddly, as a series of vignettes or scenes without much linking material. That's why you need to have seen the third season in order to make sense out of it.
> 
> 4\. I don't usually write whole fics in the third person, present tense.
> 
> 5\. I don't usually write mpreg. I have nothing against it as an idea, I just think it's overused, and frequently mishandled.
> 
> There you have it. I originally expected the story to end up being more about Shouri than Yuuri, but they ended up coming out more-or-less equal.
> 
> Anyway, this is complete, and all seventeen chapters (~10000 words) will be posted unless someone screams at me to stop. The first chapter is the shortest. I didn't have a beta for this, so proceed at your own risk. Romanizations probably don't match any single translation of the anime (I've seen bits and pieces from just about everyone who subbed it, including but not limited to Geneon), but most of them should be acceptable variations on _someone's_ work. Any resemblance to the KKM manga, light novels, or video game is purely coincidental, since I'm not familiar with any of them.
> 
> 1826 is the number of days in five years (allowing for one leap year). That should be enough for the perspicacious to figure out what the title implies.

**Yuuri: Leaving**

He stares at the portal and then slowly forces himself to turn his back on it. 

"Yuu-chan . . ." 

He licks his lips nervously, but the words are firm when they came out. "I can't go. If I leave, the Shin Makoku Alliance is going to fall apart again, and people are going to die. I have to stay here." 

A brief silence. Then, "If that's the way you feel, Shibuya, then I'll stay too. I mean, who'll look after you if I'm not here?" 

"If _we're_ not here," the first voice corrects, and he feels a moment of panic. 

"Shouri, _you_ can't stay. What about Mom and Dad?" 

"Bob will look after them if it's necessary. I'm not going to let myself be cut off from you--I won't be able to help you if you're on this side and I'm stuck back on Earth. Besides, it's too late now, or hadn't you noticed?" 

Heart hammering triple-time, he turns back to the portal only to discover that his brother is right: the opening is now far too small to admit a human being. Well, Greta maybe, but not his brother, and probably not him or Murata, either. 

They watch in silence together as it closes the rest of the way, and then turn together to face the others who have been waiting and watching until they are ready.


	2. Yuuri:  Practice

**Yuuri: Practice**

The water in the bowl sort of twitches. Then it ripples, pulls itself together until it rises into a slightly off-center hillock . . . and collapses again. 

He sits back in the chair, rubbing at his temples. "I don't get it. When I'm in Maoh Mode, this is _easy_ , but when I'm just me, it's like I'm trying to move a ton of wet cement if I try to do anything on purpose except heal." 

"Shibuya . . . I think it's because part of you doesn't really believe you can do it." 

"Of _course_ I can do it. I've _done_ it. Just not . . ." 

"Not as yourself," his friend fills in, adjusting his glasses. "Really, how many times have you ever used majutsu on purpose?" 

"Well, there was that time with Belal . . . and then when Wolfram sprained his ankle . . ." 

"Healing, both times." 

"That's what I _said_." 

"Or . . ." The Great Sage falls silent, frowning. 

"Or _what_? Murata . . ." 

"Or maybe part of you doesn't _want_ to do it. This is primarily a destructive power, Shibuya, and you're a pacifist by inclination. Why are you so worried all of a sudden about controlling your power, anyway? It never mattered to you before." 

"Shouri." 

"Has he been heckling you again? You know, you could have him thrown in the dungeon if he's really bothering you." Murata smiles with impish glee. 

"That isn't funny! Anyway, it's nothing like that. It's just that . . . Shouri was using his power to put on a kind of magic show for Greta—weaving water dragons in fancy patterns, stuff like that. And I thought _I_ should be able to . . ." 

"Shouri's getting ahead of you because he's almost frantically going native." 

"You can say that again," the Maoh mutters. Shouri hadn't just been putting on a magic show for his niece, he'd been doing it while dressed in a blue-grey-trimmed black uniform styled like Conrad's, and with his lengthening hair tied back. Barely three months, and his older brother already looks like he belongs here, while he is just the same old Yuuri. 

"It's kind of sad, really," Murata muses. "He's working himself into exhaustion to try to keep from being homesick. Language lessons, majutsu, fencing, riding, geography, history, law, protocol . . . he's going to snap if he isn't careful." 

"I'm just glad he's keeping Gunter busy. And you're growing your hair out too," Yuuri points out. 

Murata scowls. "Shin'ou has been badgering me about it, so I figure the best way to shut him up is to prove that it won't be like he remembers. And besides, the girls like it," he adds, brightening. 

"I thought the shrine priestesses were supposed to be celibate." 

"They can leave the service and marry . . . well, Ulrike can't, but the others can. And a couple of them are intending to do just that—not with me, though," Murata says with exaggerated sorrow, startling a laugh from his friend. 

Everything will be all right, one way or the other. He's sure of it now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes, the last paragraph is a bit of a wimp-out. Sorry.)


	3. Shouri:  Jailbreak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Circa the episodes "Captured Demon King" and "Black Geneus".

**Shouri: Jailbreak**

_Sit tight, Yuu-chan. We're going to get you out._

It has taken them three days to get this far, into the dungeons below Lanzhil's castle, and sweat trickles down his back as he waits for Josak to signal the all-clear. Unlike his brother, he's familiar with history—both this world's and the other's, now—and he knows of a number of things that could have been done to his precious Yuu-chan that the other has probably never thought of. _Damn_ Murata for making an unexpected trip to Cimaron, and double-damn Yuuri for being stupid enough to follow! And while he's at it, triple-damn the pair of them for making him stow away on Celi's ship, because being discovered by the former Maoh in the middle of the night was not _nearly_ as much fun as his eroge led him to believe. Kind of disturbing, really. The woman is just so _pushy_! 

A pair of soldiers, stiff-spined, walk past the niche in which he has concealed himself, and Josak gestures to him from the corridor across the way, indicating _through_ and _down_. He pulls his hood lower around his face, opens the door, and slips through. 

The space beyond is like a giant open stairwell, with cells along the outside edges. That cell down on the second level, the one with the guards standing outside it—that must be the one they want. 

He draws back again, into the narrow space right in front of the bars of an empty cell, as Josak, clad in a stolen uniform, loudly greets another guard who is climbing up out of the pit. He spent all of last night weaving majutsu through his cloak, following Murata's sometimes contradictory advice. It should hide him, if he's done it correctly. Still, he hopes the guards aren't very alert. 

Another quick, silent sprint carries him halfway around the square before he has to stop and flatten himself again. So far, all the cells but one have been empty, and the sole prisoner was lying asleep, with his back to the bars. He's getting kind of drowsy himself, actually . . . probably from being up all night . . . but he can't . . . afford to . . . 

With an effort, he shakes his head, and then flexes his maryoku, using his weak healing ability to purge himself of fuzziness. This is _not_ right, not natural. He knows it even before he sees Josak stagger back against the bars of another cell, slide down them, and begin to snore. 

Something black flickers past him, moving extremely fast, and he swallows and puts his hand on his sword. He isn't very good with it, not yet, but there isn't enough water here for him to do anything useful with, so if he has to defend his brother . . . 

"Geneus-san . . ." His brother's voice, loud in the silence of this pit. 

"We are out of time, my lord Maoh," a strange voice replies. "Lanzhil has ordered your execution. Today." There is a flicker of light, a click and a creak, and leaning hard over the rough stone guard-wall, he can just barely see a dark, hooded figure, and a cell door opening. 

There's no time for him to run around the edges of two levels, and so he grits his teeth and climbs over the wall, trying not to think of the drop below. Dangling by his hands, he swings his weight forward and drops, landing neatly on the lower level, a quarter-turn from the cell and its mysterious visitor, who jerks his hooded head up, startled. 

He pushes his own hood back to show his face. "Yuu-chan? You okay?" 

"Shouri!" His brother sticks the upper half of his body through the open cell door. "Took you long enough! I hope you brought me some better clothes, 'cause I'm really sick of the pink pajamas." 

"Just this." He pulls out the second cloak. "Unless you want me to check to see what Josak brought." 

Yuuri wrinkles his nose. "No, I think I'll pass. Um, keys?" He holds up the wooden fetter that secures his wrists. 

"Allow me." The shadowy figure standing beside the open door touches the wood, and the bonds fall with a clatter. "You both need to get out of here. That fool Lanzhil would consider any Double-Black a prize." 

"You're from the White Crow." He sees the brooch for the first time. 

"He's their leader . . . I think," Yuuri says, rubbing his wrists. 

"Only in the field," the man named Geneus says in a low voice. "The choice of objectives . . . is not mine." 

"Then whose are they?" 

"Not mine," the soft, cultured voice repeats. "Go. They will be coming for the Maoh soon." 

Shouri Shibuya stares after the stranger as he vaults over the guard-wall and drops down into darkness. 

_You don't really want to be doing this, do you?_


	4. Shouri:  Leap of Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Circa the episode "Pursuit Across the Plains".

**Shouri: Leap of Faith**

"That was crazy." He picks himself up and dusts himself off, the residue of whatever spell they cast on him before taking him from his bed in Blood Pledge Castle still making him fuzzy-headed. It takes him a moment to realize that the other man is still crouched on the ground, his body tense, chest heaving as though he must fight for every breath. "Hey! Are you all right?" 

He moves without waiting for a response. His healing powers are not of the best, but they might help a bit, and he has full command of them now. Put his hand on Geneus' shoulder, reach down and in and . . . what is this?! What he feels isn't a human body, it's a bottomless pit, pulling at his power and trying to draw him down . . . it's terrifying, and yet . . . it can't be healthy for the other man to have such an emptiness inside of him . . . 

Gritting his teeth, he surrenders to the pull, letting his maryoku be sucked into the dark. And although he isn't sure whether it's taking a moment or forever, the drain does slow after a time, the darkness lightening to a grey haze. 

He pulls himself out of the mists and reels back against a tree, feeling as though if he knocked on his head, he'd just hear a hollow sound. 

"Why?" 

His brains are utterly scrambled, so the best he can come up with is, "Because it wasn't right. Will you . . . be okay, now?" 

"Do you understand what you have done?" 

"Not in the least," he replies instantly, and the other smiles crookedly, but instead of explaining, he turns sharply on his heel. 

"See to it that we are not disturbed," he says to a bush. 

"Geneus-sama?" 

"I wish to speak to this man in private. Now, go." 

The bush rustles. Geneus waits for a moment, then turns back to Shouri. 

"You have saved my life, Shouri-dono," the violet-eyed man says. "I was only being kept alive until I found someone to suit her purposes, but now . . . I am yours to command." He bows in a way the younger man has seen only a few times—he doesn't understand the nuances of such things in this world yet, but he knows that part of what this means is _subservience_. 

"Just 'Shouri' is good enough," he says to fill in the silence. "And I didn't do it with any expectation of reward." 

"I know. You are like your brother, or like . . . You are too kind for your own good, sometimes, but nonetheless, this time it has brought good to you." 

He licks his lips. "Can you tell me what's going on? With the swords, and . . . this?" 

"Anything you wish. The seeds of the current sequence of events were sown long ago and far from here, in the land called Seisakoku . . ."


	5. Yuuri:  Conference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You could call it a replacement for "The Edge of Imagination", I guess.

**Yuuri: Conference**

" . . . And thus, in the end, it has nothing to do with Shin Makoku at all," the man named Geneus finishes. 

The chair spins, nearly giving its occupant whiplash, as Gwendal von Voltaire says, "You must have known that Morgif wasn't the sword she was looking for, so why steal . . . him?" 

"Because she insisted," came the flat reply. "She did not trust me . . . not to be mistaken, or perhaps she believed that the sword retrieved from Vandavia was not the original Morgif. Indeed, seeing him as he is now, _I_ did not entirely believe he was the original Morgif at first." 

"I admit that the Morgif we have grown to know does not entirely match the description in the chronicles," Gunter says, making the chair skew 'round again. From this position, the Maoh can see the man they are interviewing . . . well, out of the corner of his eye, at least. Geneus is standing proud, with his spine straight and his shoulders back, a challenging expression on his face . . . and the fingers of his left hand laced through Shouri's where they stand side-by-side. They haven't allowed themselves to be separated since the patrol Hube was leading found them yesterday afternoon, sitting together on a log at the edge of the forest. 

He swallows hard as the chair spins again in response to Lord von Radford's, "If this Alazon really has no interest in us as such, how would you suggest we stop her from meddling in our affairs?" He skipped breakfast this morning, knowing what sort of ordeal he would have to face, but there is only so much that his abused stomach can tolerate. 

"Provide her with an alternative," Geneus says. "She is completely goal-focused. Given the sword and someone to wield it, I doubt she will ever bother us again." 

" _Us_?" Waltorana says incredulously. 

"I did not serve Alazon's cause of my own free will, Lord von Bielefelt. I have been a prisoner ever since she revived me. Defying her would have meant my death. Nevertheless, this is my home and you are my people, and I am . . . ashamed . . . that I was not able to find a way to avoid involving Shin Makoku in this . . . foreign adventure. Now that I am free, I must put this right before I can turn my mind to my final errand." 

"Stop talking like you're going to die," the man standing beside Geneus says with a formidable scowl. 

"Shouri, I have already told you, my body is—" 

"And _I've_ already told you," Shouri cuts him off. "There has to be a way to save you. And we're going to find it. In time." 

Geneus' expression softens. "You have already done more for me than I ever expected or deserved. I cannot ask for more." 

"And you haven't," Shouri replies gruffly. "I _offered_. Letting you die just seems like such a waste, and I . . ." 

He looks aside, and Yuuri is shocked to see a faint flush spread across his brother's face. _He can't seriously be . . . Shouri's straight! Or at least, I always thought he was . . . and he always thought he was . . ._ And their hands are still intertwined, Geneus' gloved one with Shouri's bare. _I wonder if he realizes it himself, yet._

Suddenly the universe is spinning around on its head, and nothing is what he thought it was. If Shouri is . . . _that_ . . . then what does it mean about him? He's never really had feelings for a girl _or_ for a boy . . . except sometimes in the middle of the night, when he wakes up to find Wolfram cuddled against him and a strange warmth spreading through the pit of his stomach and points . . . lower down. 

There's no word in the language spoken in Shin Makoku for "straight" or "gay" or "bi" . . . people are just people, and they love who they love. If he's to be a good king for this land, that's something he has to learn to embrace. 

And Wolfram? Well . . . maybe. At very least, they're going to have a nice long talk.


	6. Shouri:  Ritual

**Shouri: Ritual**

It's taken them hours to draw the triangular diagram on the floor, under the direction of a man and a boy who react to each other like a cat and dog meeting for the first time, bristling and spitting and picking fights just to let the other know which of them is superior. It's been brutal, and yet Shouri doesn't begrudge any of it. 

It's to save a life, after all. 

Murata scowls formidably as Geneus strips off his clothes and takes his place in the center of the diagram, kneeling naked on the stone. The black-haired man doesn't seem to feel the cold, and perhaps he can't. There is a certain transparency about him, a weakness that Shouri hasn't been able to do anything for no matter how much maryoku he bleeds into the other . . . something from which he's had to abstain for two full days in order to have enough power for this. 

There are other pairs of eyes watching too: Yuuri, looking a bit shell-shocked. Ulrike, inscrutable. And at the front of the room, perched on an empty wooden box, the blonde man on whose knowledge the success of this rests offers Geneus a mock-leer . . . or maybe not so mock, after all. _I knew my Sage's body intimately._ Those words had turned Murata beet red. Geneus, on the other hand, had just tilted his head and made some sharp-tongued retort about the minuscule number of bodies the dead king _hadn't_ known intimately, making Shin'ou laugh. Neither of them had mentioned the tears flowing down over the purple marks that marred the black-haired man's face. 

They'd gone off alone then, for just a few minutes, much to Murata's disgust, and when they had returned, Geneus' face had been dry, his composure regained. He had knelt smoothly to Shin'ou in front of them all, bowing his head, and they had exchanged what seemed like ritual words in language so archaic that Shouri was unable to follow it . . . although he did see them make Murata scowl. The Sage hadn't stopped scowling the whole time they were drawing the diagram. 

"Now?" Yuuri asks, and Shin'ou nods. Shouri is already in his place at one corner of the diagram, but he must wait for the other two, because he doesn't have the power or the knowledge to do this alone. None of them does, actually, but they are hoping that the three of them—dead Maoh, live Maoh, and former Maoh-in-waiting—have enough and know enough between them to make this work. 

Ritual magic isn't anything like the more common and explosive uses of majutsu, or like Anissina's draining experiments. Mazoku normally don't—can't—work magic together, but the diagram ties and channels their power, although even Murata and Geneus don't know how or why. Shouri lets out a breath and simultaneously lets down all his hard-won magical defenses. Shin'ou must lead in this. 

The dead king raises his arms, pupils twisting into slits, and a golden aura flares up around him. Light shoots along the lines on the floor, and as it envelops him, Shouri feels his maryoku respond. There's so much light . . . so bright . . . even Geneus is glowing, but on him it is not an aura—his _skin_ is glowing . . . Shouri closes his eyes just in time to avoid the flash. 

When he opens them again, it seems at first that nothing important has changed. The only light is from above, the diagram on the floor is burnt black, and Geneus still kneels at the center of it, sweat-soaked black hair dangling into his face. Then the former White Crow runs his hands through the tangled strands, pushing them back, and raises his head. 

The eyes that lock with Shouri's are black too, black as starless night, and the face surrounding them bears no trace of purple. They both smile with relief, and then Shouri is staggering forward, and Geneus' arms are spreading to welcome him. 

They embrace tightly, and Shouri feels a stirring inside his pants at the touch of the other man's naked body. It isn't the first time, though, and after a lot of late-night soul-searching, he's decided to accept what his body is telling him. Slowly he tilts his head to one side, and Geneus tilts his to the other, and he leans forward and just like that, they exchange their first kiss. 

It takes a moment for him to figure out what the thing poking into his hip is, and when he finally does, he flushes . . . but he doesn't let go or turn his head away. Being a virgin doesn't mean that he has to _act_ like a silly teenager ashamed of his urges, and so he won't. Instead, he will do everything to be the partner that the man in his arms deserves.


	7. Yuuri:  In the Navy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one. Circa "The Start of the War".

**Yuuri: In the Navy**

"There are at least a hundred ships," Waltorana says crisply as he hands his spyglass to his young visitor. "It will be a tremendous battle, Your Majesty." 

Yuuri raises the brass-bound instrument slowly and squints through it one-eyed, wishing he had a pair of binoculars. "The flags aren't all the same, are they?" 

"No, Your Majesty. Some of the ships are from Small Cimaron and the other tributary nations, but it makes no difference. They can kill us. They _will_ kill us. If you order us not to fight back . . . I will be forced to disobey your command." Waltorana says it stiffly, and even Yuuri-the-ignorant knows that such a sentiment is treason here. 

The young king shakes his head. "I'm not going to forbid you and your men from defending yourselves. I just wish . . . isn't there any way we can _talk_ to them?" 

"We can attempt to send a message by semaphore, but whether or not they will pay any attention is in Shin'ou's hands." 

Yuuri grimaces and mutters, "I wish you hadn't put it quite that way . . ." Then he clears his throat and forces himself to speak more loudly. "Okay, we'll try it anyway. Here's what I want the message to say." 

He'll try to appeal to Lanzhil first, but if that doesn't work, he'll try Sara. The king of Small Cimaron owes him, after that debacle at his palace. If he has to burn that favour in order to get a meeting with Lanzhil, then so be it. Anything to prevent the unnecessary deaths of his people.


	8. Yuuri:  Treaty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And since the other one was so short, you get a bonus. This is probably a little out-of-character. Mea culpa.

**Yuuri: Treaty**

"He's actually pretty weak-willed," the young king of Small Cimaron says as he settles his glasses back into place. "I'm surprised." 

"Thanks very much for doing this, Sara," Yuuri says as he scribbles "Shibuya Yuuri Harajuku Furi" at the bottom of the parchment that Lanzhil has just signed in sleepwalking slow motion. "I don't like having to . . . to trick him like this, but if it buys us time . . ." 

"Precisely," Saralegui says with a smile. "I'm not ready yet either. It's going to take me at least another month to purge the army properly. Here, you need a witness, right?" He adds his name to the bottom of the parchment too. "And now, the seals." There is a cylinder of wax lying on the table, and he holds it against the side of a lantern to soften it. 

"Will they . . . remember any of this?" Yuuri asks, nodding toward Lanzhil and the four guards the king of Big Cimaron brought with him, now as glaze-eyed as their master. 

"Mmm . . . It depends. I can tell them to forget, but planting false memories doesn't usually work very well." 

"What I don't understand is how you can do anything like this," Yuuri admits. "You've said yourself that it isn't houjutsu." 

Saralegui smiles. "Well, the truth is that I don't even know that for sure. I've certainly never trained in houjutsu, and I don't carry any houseki . . . but it can't be majutsu either, can it? Maybe it's something I inherited from my mysterious mother." 

"You don't remember her at all? I would have thought there would be something . . . the sound of her voice, maybe, or the colour of her hair." 

The other king's expression goes soft, oddly reflective. "The sound of a bell." 

Back against the wall, Geneus jerks, head coming up sharply. Yuuri had wanted to bring Murata with him, but the other had refused to leave the temple. The alternate version of the Great Sage had seemed like a good substitute, even if it meant dragging Shouri along as well. And now, it seems that Geneus might know something interesting. 

"I think she might have worn them as earrings," Saralegui continues. "I can almost remember trying to grab one and stuff it in my mouth . . . I guess I must have been really young." 

"Well, at least you remember something." And when they are all free to leave this room, he will ask Geneus what he knows.


	9. Yuuri:  Courtship

**Yuuri: Courtship**

He's seated himself off to one side so that he can have a look at Wolfram's reaction as he enters the room. It's worth it. 

The little blonde takes two steps inside the room and stops dead, staring. Slowly, almost painfully slowly, he approaches the table set for an elegant and private interlude for two: the white tablecloth, the candles, his favourite cake, the bottle of wine (something that Shouri will no doubt blister Yuuri's ears off about when he finds out), plates and glasses and serving utensils . . . and flowers. Everywhere, flowers. If they had been back on Earth, Yuuri would have used red roses, but he has Conrad's assurance that the symbolism here is equivalent. 

By the time Wolfram turns to face him and say, questioningly, "Yuuri?" he is sweating buckets. _Be honest. Show your intentions clearly._ In the end, that was what everyone from Celi to Murata had told him when he had asked, once he could get them to just _answer the damned question_ and stop teasing him or going off in raptures about love or saying that he was still too young to date. But _honest_ can be tough in his own way, and he's never done this before, so how can he be sure he's being clear, despite all his meticulous preparations? 

He licks his lips. Moment of truth. "We need to talk. About the engagement. I think I've been acting like a bit of an idiot, and it isn't fair to you." 

"From all of this, you don't want to break it off." Wolfram gestures, taking in the table and all the rest of the flowers occupying nearly every horizontal surface in the room. 

"No, I don't. I'm . . . a bit confused, I guess . . . but I'm pretty sure that isn't what I want." 

Wolfram snorts. "Then what is there to be confused about?" 

"Well, um, I've never . . . I only . . ." He feels himself going red, and forces himself to blurt it out. "I've never really had much in the way of sexual feelings for anyone, and I . . . didn't know how to handle . . ." No good. Try again. "I wasn't sure I really wanted . . ." Deep breath. _Okay._ "The slap was an accident. It wasn't that you aren't attractive, it was that I've never felt that way about _anybody_ until recently. I've been a crappy fiancé because I didn't know how to _be_ a fiancé. I wanted a friend, not a l-lover. But now I think I'm falling for you, and I'm kinda scared." 

The blonde's expression softens. "Yuuri . . ." 

"I'm not done yet. I owe it to you to try to make this work properly, to stop treating you as just-a-friend. That's what this is about." Now it's his turn to gesture at the table and the flowers. "I'm _really_ scared about that part. I don't know the first thing about romance, and it makes me feel silly. But I want to be your fiancé for real. And I owe it to you to either set a wedding date soon, or cancel the engagement properly. In return for that, I want you to promise me something." 

"What?" 

"That you'll stop being jealous of everyone I talk to, because I'm not interested in them. There's only ever been you." 

He can tell from the expression on Wolfram's face that he at least got that part right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri has never really struck me as your typical horny heterosexual teen, so I've chosen to depict him here as a demi-sexual: interested in a physical relationship only after a strong emotional relationship has already been established. And confused, because he isn't aware that that kind of sexual orientation is possible and just thinks there's something slightly wrong with him.
> 
> As for Wolfram, I'm being a little uncharacteristically kind to him here. I don't hate him by any means, but I think he needs _both_ a little understanding and a good swift kick in the pants, if you know what I mean.


	10. Shouri:  Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Circa the episode "Unexpected Meeting".

**Shouri: Reunion**

He recognizes the feeling of enchanted sleep the second time, and shakes it off immediately. This time, however, he knows it isn't Geneus, because the other man is sitting up beside him, tense, and striking a light so that they can see to dress—Shouri still can't light things reliably or quickly with flint and steel, although he's getting better. Didn't primitive matches use phosphorus? Maybe he should put Anissina on it. 

Dressed in yesterday's pants, with his sword at his side, he flattens himself against the wall and cautiously opens the door, but the hallway outside is empty. Too empty, with the guards lying asleep on the floor. He exchanges glances with Geneus, knowing that there is only one thing on both their minds. _Yuuri._

The world is lit by lightning flashes as they run along the hallway leading to the royal bedroom, dodging unconscious guardsmen. Geneus leaps over one, and the man never stirs. They need more guards with strong majutsu, who won't be affected by things like this. 

Just as they reach the door, there is a thunderous crash from inside. Shouri tears at the doorhandle, and at first it seems he's opened a portal directly into the storm. Then another flash of lightning illuminates the scene briefly, showing him the broken window, and the woman and his brother poised in confrontation. 

"Yuuri!" He doesn't wait for a response, just flings himself between them. It is only when he is in position that he realizes that Geneus isn't with him. 

"Alazon." The name is not spoken loudly, but the force of it fills the room. 

"Geneus," the woman greets him. "I should have known that you would find your way here sooner or later—it's all that you ever wanted, isn't it?" 

"You will not lay hands on the Maoh," is all that Geneus says, his aura flaring magnificently around him. Only Shouri knows that it's a sham: the other man began this new life with his maryoku at an extreme low ebb, and he does not know when, or even if, it will recover. The light show is likely all he will be able to manage. "Or on Shouri. Or on anyone else residing in this place." 

"Would that you had defended me with such fervency." 

"You neither required nor deserved it. I paid back what debt I owed you by finding your sword. You have no hold over me now, and no right to command me." 

"The sword is of no value to me without someone to wield it," Alazon says. 

"That isn't his problem," Shouri growls. 

The woman turns slowly to face him, assessing. "So he is yours now?" 

"He's his own. Geneus is a _person_ , not a tool or a toy or a puppet." He's argued this a dozen times in the past couple of weeks, with Murata, with Gwendal, and even with Geneus himself, and he's getting tired of it. "I won't let you treat him like a slave or a _thing_." 

More footsteps outside in the hall, and Gwendal, Gunter, and Conrad burst in within seconds of another, with drawn swords and cries of "Your Majesty!" Alazon turns her head sharply, and there is a faint chime. 

"The sound of a bell," Yuuri says cryptically, speaking for the first time. More footsteps in the hall, slowing just outside the door. A flash of lightning illuminates the new arrivals, the castle's guests from Small Cimaron, Saralegui shadowed by his tall bodyguard. 

"You . . ." The blonde youth speaks slowly, staring at her as though dazzled. "Are you . . . my mother?" 

There is a long silence. Geneus is the first to get his wits together. 

"A room with a broken window open to the storm is not a place for prolonged discussion. We should move to one of the sitting rooms . . . and have the little princess moved to her own room before she catches cold," he adds with a warm smile and a glance at the bed. 

"Mmm, good idea," Yuuri says. "Let's talk."


	11. Yuuri:  Negotiation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of substitutes for the episode "Holy Kingdom". It's also the last chapter that even remotely parallels the anime, so you'll be seeing fewer notes henceforth.

**Yuuri: Negotiation**

"So this is the sword? I'd been expecting it to look more . . . I don't know . . . impressive." The room is silent as he makes that observation, and inwardly, he winces. _Oh, hell, I've put my foot in it again._

"It has been passed from hand to unknowing hand since it left Seisakoku," Alazon says. "Each stranger drained it a little more. It has taken years of accumulated damage to make it as you see it." 

"Although it might have lasted a little better if they hadn't made both the hilt and the scabbard of brass," Geneus observes quietly. He and Shouri are sitting together on a couch, still shirtless, arms intertwined. They don't seem embarrassed at all about being half-naked at a conference, and Yuuri kind of envies them, because standing up in front of all these people in a pair of slightly ripped pajamas is giving him flashbacks to some dreams he would like very much to forget. 

Everyone's a bit disheveled, though: Conrad's in his shirt sleeves, Wolfram's wearing his pink nightie over yesterday's pants, Gwendal has his hair down, Saralegui's in a robe, and Yuuri thinks that Gunter might be shirtless too under his cape. The only people who look properly put together and presentable are Josak, Saralegui's formidable bodyguard Beryes, and Alazon herself. 

"So do we know anything about it other than the fact that the materials and worksmanship are crap?" Josak drawls. 

"It eats maryoku," Wolfram says in a low voice. "Or at least, it ate mine." 

"Not only maryoku," Geneus says. "I was unable to probe the spells on it completely, but I do know it is quite happy to absorb any kind of energy—maryoku, houryoku, heat, sunlight, the energy of motion . . . they are all its fuel. Had I drawn it as I was when it first fell into my hands, it very likely would have killed me. Even placing my hand on the hilt was something of a risk." 

Yuuri licked his lips. "Fuel for what?" 

"That, I do not know. Not for certain. The prolonged loss of energy has left the spells binding it faded and difficult to trace, and I did not have much time to work with it. From the descriptions I was given, they would logically be fertility spells." 

The Maoh feels himself start to blush. _Not that kind of fertility spell, Yuuri._ But he still can't bring himself to look at Wolfram . . . _Focus, focus!_

"In any case, I would say that the first step is to free it from its scabbard," Geneus continues, although Yuuri thinks he's just pretending not to notice his Maoh's flustered state. "Nearly all of us here have some measure of power. The safest thing to do would be to pass it from hand to hand without drawing it, letting it absorb a little from each of us, and see if anything comes of that." 

The sword is passed solemnly from hand to hand around the room. Conrad doesn't take it, or Josak, and Wolfram shudders and backs away when it's offered to him, but everyone else handles it. Yuuri's turn comes midway through. The blade is heavier than Morgif, and its hilt is cold despite the number of hands that have been on it, but there doesn't seem to be anything else unusual about it. 

Beryes accepts it solemnly, removing his gloves so as to touch the brass with his bare hands. The appearance of the sword has definitely improved since they started passing it around—most of the corrosion has sloughed off, and it almost looks like the metal is gaining some polish. 

The bodyguard hands the weapon on to his master, who balances it thoughtfully across his palms. His hand curls easily about the hilt. "You know, I think I could . . ." 

"Your Majesty, I am not certain that would be wise," Beryes rumbles. 

Saralegui smiles. "Probably not, but I'm not going to become a greater king than my father by being _cautious_ , Beryes. You know that." 

The sword slides from its scabbard with a hiss, and everyone holds their breath, Yuuri included. But it's just a sword, and he's letting that breath out again when light suddenly flares around the blade. 

"Sara . . ." 

"I think it likes me," the other king says with a smile. 

"Your energies appear to be meshing well with it," Geneus says. "I would go so far as to say that you are the proper master for this sword." 

"No." Alazon's face is utterly bloodless. She looks like an alabaster statue. "No, I won't allow it. Not you." 

Beryes shakes his head. "I fear that nothing you can do will be able to protect him from the truth. Sister." 

As the words sink in, everyone turns to look at the tall bodyguard. 

_Sister?_


	12. Shouri:  Night of the Ball

**Shouri: Night of the Ball**

He stands in the shadow of a pillar with his hand curled loosely around a glass of fruit juice. He hadn't thought it was wise to go ahead with the celebrations they had planned for welcoming Saralegui, but Yuuri had insisted, and tweaked the plans to accommodate additional royalty . . . additional royalty that he doesn't trust one bit. 

"I don't think she intends to try anything tonight," Geneus says softly. His position isn't as shadowed, and the glass in his hand contains wine and not juice, but they had, once again, had exactly the same idea. It's their similarities, as well as their differences, that make them mesh so easily. 

"You trust her?" His hand has warmed the juice too much, he realizes as he brings the glass to his lips, and with a grimace, he sets it aside on the end of a nearby table. 

"Not at all . . . but with Saralegui agreeing to go with her, she has most of what she wants." 

The music starts again, and they both pause to watch the dance floor and see who has paired with whom this time. Yuuri is with Wolfram, as he has been for every other dance the entire evening. They do seem to be getting along better, and Shouri is glad—he was starting to think he was going to have to take the little blonde down to the back corner by the stables and beat some sense into him. Conrad with Lady Celi, Gwendal with Anissina (looking vaguely trapped), Gunter with Giesela . . . those are all usual pairings. Murata dancing with Saralegui is profoundly _not_ usual, but they seem to be having fun . . . although Shouri has a sneaking suspicion that the dance is likely a cover for a round of conversational sparring. Alazon is with her brother, whose restored blonde hair gleams brightly in the lamplight. They both look profoundly uncomfortable. 

"I had hoped to ask you to dance as well," Geneus murmurs, "but I must admit that not one of the songs they've played so far has been familiar to me. Fashions in such things change so rapidly . . . a gap of two thousand years might as well be a million." 

"It's enough that you're here," Shouri says, and they both smile. "Besides, I don't know any of this world's dances either. There was so much to learn that I kind of put those lessons off." 

"Understandable. How is your swordsmanship coming?" 

Shouri smiles again, slightly crooked. "Conrad thinks that, in a few more months, I might be able to beat a six-year-old human child wielding a stick. I'm just not a natural athlete, so I have to sweat twice as hard for everything." 

"There is no shame in letting your power be your primary defense," the other man says, but something in his eyes . . . 

"Are there any signs that yours is coming back?" 

"It is too soon yet to be certain—if it does happen, it may take years." Geneus turns his head away, pretending to watch the dancers again. "There are times when I feel like a ghost roaming these halls, seeing the shadows of the past, but unable to touch . . ." 

"Like hell," Shouri growls, having learned how to handle his partner's fits of melancholy. "You're a man, you're alive, and you're here with me. I won't let you be anything less." Was this a good time? Would there _ever_ be a good time? Best to go through with it anyway. 

It's barely hard enough to be called a slap, really. There is no sting in his palm, and it doesn't make all that much noise. It does, however, make Geneus' expression cycle from surprise through brief irritation to sudden understanding. 

"Shouri—" 

"I've been going over this in my mind for _weeks_ ," Shouri interrupts. "You know I don't make life-changing decisions suddenly, or without putting a lot of thought into them, and I'm sure that this is what I want. That you are what I want." 

"Oh, how _romantic_!" 

If he had known that Lady Celi was at this end of the dance floor, however, he might have waited a few more minutes before proposing. He had hoped to put off the whole cooing-and-congratulations thing for a little while longer . . . but he grits his teeth and bears up under it, because Geneus is worth it. 

_Forevermore._ The word comes to him as he puts his arm around his new fiancé's waist, pulling them closer together. 

_Forevermore._


	13. Yuuri:  Wedding

**Yuuri: Wedding**

He is nervous and his palms are sweating and he's glad that weddings in Shin Makoku don't normally involve a ring, because he's pretty sure that he would drop it. His head hurts, too, because of the elaborate headdress traditional for the marriage of a Maoh. It's secured to him with combs and ribbons and several duplicates of Anissina's Hold-Things-Fast-To-Your-Hair-kun, which anyone else would have called bobby pins. Pink ones. With sparkly little crystals stuck to them. 

"You should have gotten married before the coronation," his brother says unsympathetically. Shouri's lucky: it may be a double wedding, but he isn't required to wear the headdress, although his hair—nearly as long as Gwendal's, now—is done up in an elaborate braid Gunter claims is for luck. 

Yuuri flushes. "Before the coronation, I didn't know I wanted to." It's taken him nearly another year to come to terms with what he feels for Wolfram, that he wants to touch him and to be touched, and more than a month to set up the wedding, and then two more months for all the guests to get here. 

"Well, okay, then, think of it this way: by tomorrow, everything is going to be over." 

"Shouri?" 

"Mmm?" 

"You're just as nervous as I am, aren't you?" he accuses. 

Shouri flushes. "Well . . . yeah, I guess maybe I am. It's a big step." 

And a hellish one to plan, really. Yuuri shakes his head, remembering the arguments—technically, Murata, as the Great Sage, should have presided over the marriage of a Maoh, but the fact that Shouri's intended was also sort-of-the-Great-Sage had been a bizarre complication that even Gunter thought made it inappropriate. In the end, they'd compromised on Ulrike performing the marriage, and Murata as the formal witness for Yuuri. 

Scraping up formal witnesses for the other couple had been another painful process. Your witness was supposed to be a friend or a relative, and Shouri and Geneus had been so wrapped up in each other since the not-kidnapping that they didn't have many other ties. After they'd explained the problem to him, Conrad had offered his services for Shouri, but they'd had to wait for an unusual and extraordinary offer to find someone for Geneus. 

"I keep thinking of everything that could go wrong," Shouri was saying. "There may not be a ring to drop, but I could forget my vows or . . . or just faint, or something." 

"Thanks a lot," Yuuri mutters. He'd thought of the forgotten vows scenario, and arranged for Murata to prompt him if he needs it, but fainting wasn't one that he'd come up with. Or getting so overwrought that he goes into Maoh Mode and start rampaging through the temple . . . that one's only just now crossing his mind. 

The door creaks open. "Your Majesty. Lord Shouri. It's time." 

Yuuri licks dry lips. "Thank you, Gunter." They've practiced this so many times that the ceremony _should_ go off without a hitch. Shouldn't it? 

They're supposed to advance up the aisle in order of rank, but that was another thing that fell apart early on—what was the proper relative rank of the Maoh's brother, the von Bielefelt heir, and an incarnation of the Great Sage? So as a compromise, they've set up things so that each of them has his own narrow aisle to advance up, isolated from the others. At the front wait Ulrike, Murata, Celi, Conrad, and a fifth figure, face concealed by a hooded cloak. He has to get very close before he can see the blonde hair and intensely blue eyes that the hood shadows. 

Shin'ou offers his chosen heir a wink as the four of them come to a stop at the front of the room . . . and then Yuuri has eyes for no one but Wolfram as they turn to face each other and join hands.


	14. Yuuri:  Ordinary Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've chosen, for the purposes of this chapter, to take Conrad at his word when he says that Mazoku age at one-fifth the rate of humans, even though there are places where the anime isn't consistent with that.
> 
> If this chapter comes across as a little repetitious, well, I'm sorry.

**Yuuri: Ordinary Day**

It's a beautiful spring day outside, and Yuuri is stuck in his office doing paperwork . . . but he doesn't really mind so much. Thanks to Geneus and Shouri picking apart the bureaucracy and putting it back together over the past ten years, the paper he has to handle personally is down to manageable proportions. He should be done by lunch, and afterwards he'll be able to do some sparring, or maybe play catch with Conrad . . . although at twenty-six, he feels a bit silly playing catch. Even if he only looks eighteen, since he seems to be aging at a Mazoku rate now. 

He wonders if the weather is equally nice in Zorasia. Greta's extended period of residence there won't end until midsummer, and even then she may not come back. She may love Shin Makoku, and Wolfram, and him, but she is also a strong-minded and responsible young woman, and he thinks she'll choose Zorasia. Not that he _wants_ her to, but he respects her right to make her own decisions. 

Suddenly, Shouri mumbles a curse and pushes back from the long table where he's doing his initial sort of his own paperwork—he prefers to keep it in here until he's sure that nothing that's really supposed to go to Yuuri has been misdirected to him. 

"Bathroom again?" Yuuri asks. 

"Yeah. I'm going to be glad when this is over," Shouri adds, resting both hands on his swollen stomach. 

"I still can't believe that Mazoku stay pregnant for three _years_ ," Yuuri says. 

His brother shrugs. "Five times eight-and-a-half is forty-two-and-a-half, so we actually get off with six months less than we should, when you think about it. Giesela says I have about another seven weeks of this to look forward to," he adds with a sour glance downward. "Geneus has already promised to handle the next one—we think his maryoku will be high enough to support it in ten more years or so, and Shin'ou's promised to give him a boost if it isn't. Have you and Wolfram decided what you're going to do?" 

Yuuri wrinkles his nose and stares at his brother's belly with the same disturbed fascination he's been feeling ever since Shouri started showing. "I don't think I could do it," he admits. "It's just too freaky, and they have to cut you open to get it out . . . Wolfram's gone back to calling me a wimp again, but I . . ." 

"Well, there's no hurry," Shouri says easily. "You could always adopt again." 

"Except that Wolfram wants a proper von Bielefelt heir." 

"So have him do the hard part—he's got more than enough maryoku." He grimaces. "Look, I've got to go _now_ , okay? I'll be back in a few minutes." 

It still gives Yuuri a kind of creepy feeling to watch his brother waddle out of the room that way with a mutter of, " . . . be nice when I can actually see to aim again . . . " He loves Greta, but he still can't imagine wanting a child badly enough to do something like that to himself. He doesn't have Shouri's weird rapport with babies . . . and having a good chunk of your maryoku eaten by the fetus for _three whole years_ to make up for the fact that your body isn't quite set up right, and then the Caesarian at the end . . . no, he just isn't that brave. And that's without the morning sickness and everything else he's watched Shouri go through. If Wolfram wants to do it, he'll love the child when it's here, but for himself . . . no. Just no. 

_What would Mom and Dad think if they could see us now?_ he wonders, then laughs and shakes his head. They're nothing more than a wistful memory now, after so many years. He has to look at the handful of photos his mother once gave Wolfram to bring their faces clearly to mind—otherwise, they kind of smear and blur, and Shouma comes out looking like a greying Shouri. 

_They'd be glad for us, I think. I hope._


	15. Yuuri:  Along the Border

**Yuuri: Along the Border**

"Uncle Yuuri's going riding? Go with!" 

"Jennifer, your Uncle Yuuri is going to the western border. It isn't safe." 

"Go _with_!" Jennifer insists. Shouri snatches the little girl up and dangles her upside down, making her giggle. 

"Papa and Daddy will take you out riding later. We'll have a picnic, and maybe see the laisa birds . . . won't that be fun?" 

Jennifer sets her chin. "Okay, but you _promised._ " 

Shouri exchanges a rueful glance with Geneus. It's been twenty years, and they haven't had that second child yet, although Giesela has told Yuuri in confidence that Geneus' maryoku reached the level needed to support a pregnancy only four years after Jennifer was born. Shouri claims that they're just waiting for Jennifer to move beyond the mad-dynamo stage, but Yuuri thinks they may have decided that one child is enough. 

"Yuu-chan . . . don't do anything stupid, okay?" 

Yuuri rolls his eyes. "It's just reconnaissance, it's probably just a false alarm, and I'll have Gunter and Conrad and Josak and three squads with me. I'll see you at supper." 

He admits privately, as he mounts his horse, that he would be much happier if they weren't so near Luttenberg. It's true that nothing's ever happened to him there personally, but it's still a name of ill omen. 

"Let's be careful, eh, Midori?" he says to the great-granddaughter of the long-dead Ao as she flicks her ears back at him. "And be back in time for supper, of course." 

At first it seems like everything will be fine. It really was just a false alarm—Yuuri speaks to the foreign soldiers encamped near the border of Christ province and makes sure. But while they're on their way back a storm blows up, and as they work their way along a hillside trail, disaster strikes . . . well, actually it's _lightning_ that strikes, turning a tree right beside the trail into smouldering kindling, but it's a disaster that it happens practically on top of Midori. The horse grabs her bit and bolts, away from the trail, amidst cries of _Your Majesty_ and _Follow him!_

Yuuri is a better rider than he once was, and crouches forward, over the mare's withers. Sooner or later, he knows, she will be too tired to go on running, and he will be able to regain control. In the meanwhile, all he can do is balance on her back and duck under the branches that try to scrape him off. Vaulting from the saddle isn't really an option in an area with such dense underbrush—he could land on _anything_ , and the story that Josak once told him about a guy dying after he was skewered on a branch jutting up from a fallen log was . . . graphic. 

They slither down a bank and into a wide but shallow stream, one that would be thigh-deep on Yuuri if he dismounted. Midori is slowing because of the water, he's pulling in the reins and she's starting to starting to listen to him . . . and then there's a crack and a lurch and an equine scream and they both go over sideways . . . and then another crack as Yuuri's leg gets smashed between the horse's side and a water-worn rock. 

It would almost be funny, a Mazoku linked to the water element drowning in water that's barely three feet deep, but his leg hurts and he can't concentrate and Midori's writhing on top of the broken limb and he should be able to curl himself upwards and raise his face above water but it hurts hurts _hurts_ and he just wants to go home . . . 

Something sucks him down, down into the dark. There's a moment of tremendous relief as the pressure comes off his broken leg—the rock is gone, he doesn't know where, and Midori doesn't seem to be here anymore . . . and just as he blacks out, he feels a different current lifting him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I confess, I have a really bad habit of getting characters into trouble via anticlimactic means—hell, I once killed off a main character by having him trip over a tree branch and break his neck. Compared to that, a runaway horse is positively dramatic. ;P


	16. Yuuri:  Familiar Stranger

**Yuuri: Familiar Stranger**

He awakens to the sound of Morgif's urgent moaning. He's lying on small stones and his leg hurts as though a dragon bit it and he's sopping wet and he has almost no maryoku left and there's something . . . wrong? He thinks that and in the next instant doesn't know why he thought it. _Of course_ there's something wrong, he's got a broken leg and his horse is gone and he's been washed up Shin'ou-knows-where and it may take days for Conrad and the others to find him, and Wolfram's going to be worried sick and might even miscarry . . . but the air here _smells_ wrong. Familiar-wrong, as though he should be able to say what it is that's different. 

He pushes himself up on his elbows and looks around. Lakeshore, and trees, and a dock—that's good, it means there might be people around—and a . . . motorboat? 

"No," he whispers, feeling the blood drain from his face as the world reels around him and then snaps back into position . . . the wrong position. "No, I can't be here. It isn't possible. I can't be back _here_." 

Footsteps. He's numb, staring straight ahead, in shock. He barely even notices when they approach, stop, and then start beating rapid time, as though someone is running. 

"Yuu-chan! You are Yuu-chan, aren't you?" The words sound wrong, after so long, choppy and staccato, with too few consonants, but he does still understand them, and he nods. "Oh, Yuu-chan . . ." Suddenly, warm arms are wrapped around him, and he realizes that he knows this voice, this person . . . this woman. 

"You've grown so much," Miko Shibuya says. "It's only been six days for us, but for you . . . five years?" 

"Thirty years," he manages. He has to think carefully about every syllable— _san-juu-nen_. It's been a quarter century since he last used Japanese for anything but naming horses. 

"Thirty! Oh . . ." It takes even his mother a moment to absorb this. "Sho-chan? Is Sho-chan here?" 

He shakes his head. "Was . . . not . . . with . . . me," he says slowly, laboriously. "Shouri is . . . fine. Married. Me, too," he admits. 

Several more people running, then scrabbling to a stop beside him, and he looks up at a ring of strange-familiar faces. "Dad," he identifies the most important one first. "Bob. Jose." 

"Shibuya," Bob greets him. And then, "Your leg?" in the language he's been speaking for the past thirty years. 

"Broken," Yuuri says in relief—Bob's accent is thick, but that doesn't matter. "My horse fell on me. I don't know how I got back here. I . . . I didn't want to . . ." He feels himself tearing up, and blinks it back. "I can't afford to be here. I've got a pregnant husband back home, and Shouri and Jennifer and Conrad and everyone else is going to be sick with worry. And there's a whole kingdom depending on me." 

"You brought yourself here," Bob says slowly. "I can feel your power permeating the water." 

Yuuri closes his eyes, and a shiver runs through him. "That's okay, then. That's . . . okay. If I got myself here, I can get myself back. Just need a splint for the leg, and a little rest, and then I can go home." 

The paramedics won't have any of it when they arrive, of course. Compound fracture of the left leg, chilled and in shock. At first they also think he has psychological issues, but Jose reassures them. Morgif, however, makes them nervous. They can't really explain a moaning sword that bites people and doesn't have anywhere to insert batteries, so they pretend he isn't there, and Morgif sulks. 

Yuuri spends the night in a Swiss hospital, so worried that he can't sleep until they force a sedative on him. It's only a day, but now he knows that a day could be _five years_ for the people he cares about. He might not be there to see his child born, might miss his son's first step, his first word . . . and all because he's _trapped_ here by people who don't speak Mazoku _or_ Japanese, and to whom he can't explain his urgency. 

Thankfully, the morning brings Bob, and a rescue. And clean clothes, stolen from the suitcase Shouri brought with him from Japan last week. He doesn't figure that Shouri will mind, and they fit almost perfectly—better than they would likely fit his brother at this point. 

Yuuri feels a bit silly as he limps to the end of the dock with a plastic bag over his cast. He's still tired, and his maryoku isn't entirely back, and where _did_ his mother get that scuba gear? 

"I'm not going to be under long enough to need an air tank," he says in his slow, cautious Japanese. 

"Oh, this isn't for you, it's for me," Miko says with a bright smile. "I'm coming with you." 

Yuuri's eyes open wide. "Mom, I don't think that's such a good idea . . ." 

"Honey, I don't think—" Shouma begins. 

"But I just have to see Sho-chan and his husband and little Jennifer and Wolfram," Miko says. "We don't know when we're going to have another chance!" 

Now Shouma's eyes are widening too. "Dear, I'm not—" Miko barrels into him and knocks him off the end of the dock, then jumps in herself. 

"Any time now, Yuu-chan!" she calls, waving. 

Yuuri sighs and shakes his head. 

"Do you want me to . . . ?" Bob begins delicately. 

"No—she'd just find some way to try again," he admits ruefully. "I think it'll be okay." 

He lowers himself carefully off the end of the dock and into the water, trying not to jar his leg. Bobbing at the surface, he concentrates on a familiar place, and thanks Shin'ou when he feels the vortex begin to suck him down.


	17. Shouri:  Homecoming

**Shouri: Homecoming**

He has no more idea than anyone else why he feels he has to be at the temple that day. He only knows that he feels it's important. They all do. 

Maybe they just want to mourn quietly together. It's been months since Yuuri disappeared, and no matter what Murata and Shin'ou say, no one entirely believes that he's still alive. 

Jennifer laughs and runs through the open breezeway along the edge of the temple courtyard. She's too young to really understand the problem: Uncle Yuuri is gone, but Uncle Yuuri leaves all the time, for diplomatic this or military that, and he always comes back. To her, this time was no different, but to the rest of them . . . 

Geneus puts his arms around his husband without speaking, and Shouri sighs and leans against him. The heads of the Ten Families are getting restless. They're going to have to choose another Maoh soon, and he's afraid that it's going to be him, that he's going to have to try to carry on Yuuri's crazy, naive, _effective_ policies despite having far less charm and a limited talent for improvisation. Wolfram's the only other viable candidate who hasn't refused outright . . . and Shin'ou refuses to interfere, saying that they're going to have to learn to get it right themselves eventually. 

Right now, Wolfram is sitting on a bench over to one side, with his arms wrapped protectively around his belly. His pregnancy is just beginning to show. The child can't be the new Maoh, of course—they can't even be sure it's going to have any maryoku, although Jennifer's strong power is a hopeful sign. Gwendal and Conrad are standing to either side of him, like a pair of dissimilar bookends, all unspeaking. 

Gunter is pacing. Not wailing, thankfully—that ended after the first week. Just pacing, circling the courtyard slowly, unable to keep still. 

Murata's standing alone, over in a corner, with his head tilted to one side, as though he's listening. His fully human body is beginning to show its age, with grey streaks appearing in his hair and crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. He's more accepting of those signs than Shouri would be in his place, but then part of him has seen them all before. 

The water in the fountain sloshes and splashes, and Shouri frowns, focussing his attention on it. Some power is disrupting it, something familiar . . . _Yuuri?!_

He runs to the center of the courtyard. Geneus is right on his heels, his power supporting Shouri's as he reaches down into an impossible depth, feeling for his brother . . . grasping power with power, so very like grasping hand with hand . . . 

A dark head breaks the surface, and Yuuri gasps and spits water as Shouri helps him over the edge of the fountain. "Man, I think they need to send that ride in for repairs . . . How long?" 

"Eight months," Shouri says, bemused, as two other heads break the surface, disturbing the water weed. "Yuu-chan, what . . . wait a minute. Those clothes. You can't possibly have gone back to—" 

" _Sho-chan!_ " The familiar voice nearly makes him jump out of his skin. 

" _Ofukuro!_ " The syllables slip out automatically, although if he'd been asked ten minutes ago how to say "Mom" in Japanese, he doubts he would have remembered. "What . . . what are you . . . _Oof!_ " 

Geneus keeps him from falling over as he is treated to a full-force Miko Shibuya bearhug. And then it seems like everyone is talking at once, in two different languages, not caring that most of them don't understand each other. Towels and dry clothes and a couple of old Let-Me-Hear-Your-Heart's-Cry-kun appear, and Gisela is pushing Yuuri down on one of the benches so that she can look at his leg, while Wolfram grumbles and growls and calls his husband a wimp. 

And then everything goes very still as a small hand tugs at Shouma Shibuya's still-wet trousers. "Who are you? You look like Papa Shouri, but you're way too old . . ." 

Shouma crouches down. "You must be Jennifer-chan. I'm Shouri's papa . . . that makes me your grandpapa." 

"Grandpapa . . ." Jennifer tries the word out, then she giggles with delight and hugs him. "Grandpapa!" 

And at that exact moment, Shouri catches a flash of blue and gold out of the corner of his eye. He turns slowly, and Shin'ou winks at him before disappearing into the shadow of the pillars. 

**The end.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it, folks. I hope those of you who stuck with this enjoyed the ride, such as it was. With a little luck my current monster project will be ready for posting by Christmas. See you then!


End file.
